


The Forest For the Trees Affair

by 26foxbuck221



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-28 19:10:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5102414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/26foxbuck221/pseuds/26foxbuck221
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya is sent to the Pacific Northwest to deal with an eco-terrorist who is willing to do anything to protect the forest, anything at all. Even resorting to the supernatural world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**The Forest for the Trees Affair**

 

This is actually the first TV based Man From U.N.C.L.E fan fiction I started working on. But my Muse is all over the place. The fan-girlie thing is almost embarrassing, but I'm having fun with it. Hope my readers are too. Comments are always welcome, no, they are appreciated. More encouragement, you see. Comments also lets a writer know where they stand with the audience. But onward and upward, as they say.

  
          In honor of Samhain, I am going to being trying my hand at my first attempt at a horror or supernatural story. It's an experiment. Feel free to let me know the results.

  
  


           I want to apologize to those who have read the chapter I posted yesterday. This was the one I had prepared but apparently hadn't saved the changes. Sorry for the confusion.

  
  


          As always, I own nothing what so ever pertaining The Man From U.N.C.L.E franchise. No money is changing hands in any manner.

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             The U.N.C.L.E agent sat in his relatively comfortable perch and watched as the lumber crew drove the heavy wood harvesting equipment close to their logging camp. The sun was starting to set and soon the generators would be started and the high powered lighting equipment would be turned on. Armed men would start patrolling the perimeter They had learned their lesson. Unfortunately it took the disappearance of 7 people for them to do something about their security. Which was why he had been assigned this mission.

  
  


            It seems that three months ago a logging company began to suffer from the attack of a eco-terrorist. It started small. Tools were stolen and machinery was sabotaged. Basic security measures were put in place. Tools were put under lock and key. A cursory night watch was implemented but the situation continued to escalate. According to the report that U.N.C.L.E received from the FBI, the perpetrator was someone who was local and knew the area very well. He had a good working knowledge of the logging operation and the area of forest to be cut in how it was going to be parceled out. Trees were spiked and man traps were set and men were being hurt, some seriously. Then, 3 weeks ago, people began to disappear. First, it was workers of the logging operation itself. When they called in the Forestry Service, personnel were sent to join the man hunt. Members of the search never returned to camp. Local law enforcement was called on and a few more people were lost. Then the call went out to the FBI. When two special agents came up among the missing, they in turn contacted Mr. Alexander Waverly who had called the blond Russian into his office and handed the assignment over to him. He had learned early in life how to survive on the war torn streets of Kyiv in the Ukraine and later, in Russia and he had become a survivalist. A fighter in the harshest of environments. This experience had served him well and did so now.

 

         He dropped as swiftly but silently as possible from the tree. He wanted to be as far away from the logging camp and the impending light pollution as possible. He was going to need all his night vision intact. Nor did he want to be back lit. His dark blue and grey clothing did much to render him invisible but it would not be foolproof in any kind of light. The noise of the generators might be both problematic and an assistance. They would mask any noise made by anything, or anyone, moving through the woods but, since he was new to the area and knew it not at all, the noise would help cover any unfortunate clumsy stumble on his part.

 

             For the past two nights he had stayed patrolled close to camp but now that they had gotten their own security in hand, he felt it time to delve deeper into the surrounding forest. The camp had been plagued by traps that damaged equipment and caused injury to the woodcutters. Since the equipment now being heavily guarded, the terrorist would be forced to move his operation beyond the reach of the lights and the fire arms.

 

             Kuryakin was following a faint path he had discovered in his reconnaissance. True, it could have been nothing more then a game trail but he had found few animal tracks. He had found some elements of human prints but there had been great care taken in trying to mask or eliminate them. So now he carefully flitted through the shadows until some 6th sense made him drop into a low crouch in the shadow of a thick bushy shrub straining all his hearing turning his head slowly scanning. Then he froze again as a soft scuffling caught his attention and then the sound of flesh on flesh and a sharp answering hiss.

 

              “One more move like that and I swear I will gut you like a deer and leave you hanging, do you understand me.”

 

            Obviously there was an answer as the one sided conversation continued. But it was low and muffled. Illya didn't catch much more of a grunt.

 

            “Alright, I'm letting you go. You tell them butchers that they have 48 hours to break that damned camp down and get out of here or I start leaving them little presents. I've got four more warm bodies to work with. So you had better be really, really convincing. They got lights so you can't get lost.”

 

             Illya practically held his breath as someone stumbled by his hiding place. Four warm bodies, he wasn't even hazard a guess as to the missing two. He carefully let himself ease back so that he could have a clear view of the trail. Soon a dark figure moved off taking a track angling away from the camp. Giving the man a few minutes to get deeper into the woods, Kuryakin moved onto the path and began to backtrack it.

  
  


              He had been moving for a little more then ten minutes, by his estimation, when a puff of soft warm air brushing against his cheek made the agent drop to all fours his brow furrowing. Surely no one was standing close by. He slowly reached out letting his finger tips ripple through the space around him. Then still in a crouch he slid off the path in the direction he had felt the warmth. He smiled as his fingers brushed against a slag pile of brush and thin branches. Using his pin light he worked around until he found a thin spot and found the expected layers of heavy dark canvas. A seam opened under his and he found himself reeling back at the brutal assault on his olfactory senses, one arm thrown over his nose as he took deep gulps of fresh air through his mouth. The place was a charnel house. Drawing his pearl handled knife, he counted to three then he was on the move.

  
  


               With out pause he moved from one captive to another, cutting their bonds and shoving them towards the door. Glassy eyed, and shivering they stumbled out into the night. Kuryakin followed close on their heels. He couldn't give them time to falter or stop. They had to be away from this place. He herded them off into the deeper shadows across the little clearing the eco-terrorist, now murderer had made. In a patch of moonlight he counted heads to make sure none had been lost then motioned them to follow him back into deeper shadow where he once more crouched them down into a tight huddle and in a soft breathless whisper he spoke.

  
  


               “My name is Ilya Nikolayevich Kuryakin*. I am an agent from The U.N.C.L.E working in concert with the FBI to find and rescue you. You must stay here. Do not move until I return. Do you understand. He waited until he received four hesitant nods before standing to headed back to the man made cave. He was going to have to provide evidence of the crime that had been perpetrated on two of the captives.

  
  


              The men had been hung and slaughtered like sides of beef. A spit over the fire pit told the rest of the gruesome story. Finding two bags used to hold provisions, Illya picked through the remains adding articles that would identify two different victims to each bag using the heads as the easiest means of prompt recognition. When he left he made sure that the tarps were closed tight as he had found them then returned to his charges. He was loath to leave the slag pile and it's horrendous secret unguarded, but he was even less sure that these shell shocked survivors could handle to task of getting back to the camp on their own. He moved through the little knot and prodded them into moving. He led them as silently as they could manage until a distinct hum could be heard and a light was seen through the trees.

  
  


               “There is the logging camp. You will be safe there. “He held up the evidence sacks. “I need you to hand these over to the proper authorities.”

  
  


               A man and a woman stepped forward and took the bags from him then turned towards the light. The other two turned to follow. Illya watched to make sure they didn't stray, then he was off, back to take up vigilance at the slag pile. He found a good vantage point to keep the entrance in view then he activated his homing signal relay back to U.N.C.L.E headquarters. He was not ready to break the radio silence as had been stipulated by Mr. Waverly when he had handed Kuryakin the file and plane tickets.

  
  


               He could only hope that the escapes would be able to avoid recapture. He also hoped that they would not try to stage their own capture of their tormentor. At least, not until he was safely contained. He would, no doubt, return to his little man made cave which would make it easier to capture him. But the last thing Illya wanted or needed was interference of any kind.

  
  


               On the first heart stopping peep of the communicator, Illya had snatched at the silver cylinder and was diving deep into the down parka hoping to mute the dratted contraption. He was going to have to talk to R&D about finding a way to make an incoming call all but silent. Especially in situations where any sound could be deadly. It happened all to often.

  
  


              Dropping his voice to a whisper he hissed into the communicator. “Napoleon, is this you? If so you had better be whispering. I am supposed to be incognito.”

  
  


              “Oooooohhhh.” Came the soft whisper. “And don't you mean incommunicado?”

  
  


              “Blin!** I am supposed to be in communications blackout!”

  
  


               There came a stunned silence, then. “Oh...God, Illya. Napoleon out.”

  
  


                Illya reset the homing signal as he cautiously emerged from his cocoon, head cocked listening intently. Silence met him and he winched. A silent woods is never a good sign. When animals go quiet it means they have been startled and are expecting trouble. This would alert his own quarry if he was near by. But at least he knew that Solo had returned safe from his own recent assignment. Suddenly, somewhere near by, something rustled and he tensed. Then an owl hooted and there was a soft squeak and the rustle stopped and Illya relaxed.

  
  


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              *I have to give a very appreciative shout out to Avery11 for this information on how the spelling of Illya's name would look like in his native home land. It is included in her story “Uncle Boris' Kitchen”. Please pop over and take a look.

  
  


               ** Dammit in Russian.

  
  


  
  


 

 

  
  



	2. The Forest for the Trees Affair Chapter ll

**The Forest for the Trees Affair**

Chapter ll

 

As always I owe nothing of the Man From U.C.N.C.L.E franchise. Oh well, lucky those who do. No money is being made on my part.

 

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                Illya was grateful for the cool night air and breeze, it would help dissipate the evil miasma of that cave. Hopefully before the murderer got a whiff if it or four legged predators and scavengers. Although, right now, Illya would much rather face down a bear or even a wolf, or two. They killed for food. This....this was beyond sick depravity. But he had witnessed scenes similar to this during the war, it was what some human beings were capable of. No questioning why, it brought no resolution, only the strengthened resolve that this person not get another opportunity to do it again, ever.

 

                 On that grim note, the Russian drew his Walther Special and attached the silencer then he checked the chambers, both dart and the .45 caliber rounds. He felt a a strong desire to chamber the more deadly bullets, but in the end he was able to beat back his Russian bloodthirstiness, as Solo often referred to that side of his nature, and slid to dart then laid the pistol across his lap. This criminal had much to answer for, and an easy death might be just to convenient. Now all he could do was wait.

 

                 A loud scratching on the tarp skin of the slag pile brought Illya to full attention, a mocking voice left no doubt in his mind that his quarry had finally made his appearance.

 

                   “Hey, hey in there, you miss me yet?” The laughter that followed was an unpleasant heh, heh, heh. “Probably not, huh? To bad for you.”

 

                    Illya could hear the man move around toward the flap that would afford him entrance.

 

                   It took less then five seconds for the outrage to erupt. The automatic gun fire followed that in less then four seconds after that sending Illya scrambling to put more solid wood between him and the deadly projectiles.

 

                    “No! No! No! Son of a bitch! Where are you! No one finds me, never! Not even the FBI bests me!”

 

                    Another burst of rapid fire punctured the night. Just to let this mad man know that he had missed, the Russian removed the silencer, chambered up the Special's live ammo, pointed the pistol at an upward angle and leisurely fired off the round. Which brought the expected burst of profanity and gun fire.

 

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO

 

                   Lisa Rogers pressed the button that would open her connection to Mr. Alexander Waverly's inner sanctum.

 

                   “Sir, you have an incoming call on outside line 6. Special Agent Cross.”

 

                   “Connect him through, Miss Rogers, and will you let Mr. Solo know that he is to report to me, as soon as possible.”

 

                    “Yes, sir.” She transferred Agent Cross's call through then paged Napoleon.

 

                    “Good evening, Mr. Cross.”

 

                   “Good evening, Mr. Waverly. I've got to hand it to you, sir. Your man was able to accomplish in less then four days what we weren't able to do in three weeks. All the hostages have been returned. Although, I wish I could say in good condition.”

 

                   “Where there any fatalities?”

 

                   “Two. None of them due to any failure on your agent's part. He sent back what amounts to two evidence bags, and it's pretty damn clear the men have been dead longer then three days.”

 

                   Waverly looked up as the door shushed open to herald the arrival of his CEA whom he motioned to sit while he put the call on speaker.

 

                  “I see. What is the conditions of the other five?”

 

                  “Rough. Malnourished, dehydrated and that's only their physical symptoms. Their mental and emotional state has taken a beating as well. Most of them can't or won't talk. I've been trying to debrief my agents and it's not pretty. Not by half.” There came a pause then a hefty sigh. “The two men who this guy killed....he....eh....cannibalized em'. The others were forced to watch”

 

                  “Good lord, man.” It was almost a whisper. Solo looked grim. “Do you know the identity of this...”

 

                  “Monster? Not yet, we have some suspects but nothing definite. But we'll know more come daylight. My agents can lead us to this guy's camp. We'll be making a full sweep.”

 

                  “I have little doubt of that. No word from Mr. Kuryakin then?”

 

                   “No sir. He just got these people back to camp, he never came out himself”

 

                   “Yes, Mr. Kuryakin knowing, the location of this man's camp, is no doubt awaiting his return in hopes of capturing him. Until my agent deems it safe to break radio silence, there is nothing more we can do. Thank you for the update, Special Agent Cross.”

 

                    “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Waverly. And your man won't be alone in his hunt starting in the morning. Good night, sir.”

 

                     “Good night to you as well, Mr. Cross.”

 

                      Mr. Waverly took his seat at the round table contemplating his cold pipe. “An ugly business, Mr. Solo. An ugly business indeed.”

 

                      “Do you think I should go out and join the search, sir?”

 

                       The Old Man rolled that suggestion around in his mind for a few moments. Then heaved a soft sigh. “No, not at this time. Mr. Kuryakin seems to have things well in hand. He got the innocents out. The manhunt will intensify. The FBI and the loggers will be determined to bring this to a quick end, as will Mr. Kuryakin. It would take you at least a day, perhaps two to locate him. If he indicates that he is in need of assistance we can direct Special Agent Cross to his location with Mr. Kuryakin's needs while we fly you in.”

 

                       “Is that all, sir?”

 

                      “At this time, yes. Dismissed, Mr. Solo.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. The Forest for the Trees Affair Chapter ll

**The Forest for The Trees Affair**

Chapter lll

 

As always, I own nothing pertaining to The Man From U.N.C.L.E franchise. It all belongs to Ian Fleming and who ever else holds the licenses.

 

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                “I'm dead! Do you know that? And all of this has been for nothing! It didn't work! None of it, lies....stupid wives tales and myth and I fell for it and now I'm dead! You'll try to take me alive of course and then I'll go to prison. And I can't stand it. Not being locked up like that. Damn you for finding this place and for letting them go! Oh, I know the trope.” His voice became sing-song. “Give yourself up. You'll get a fair trial, blah, blah, blah. Well screw that! It ain't happenin'!”

 

                 Illya followed him by sound as he moved off heading of towards the east by northeast. The agent had studied the topographical maps of the area and now he accessed the memory of them. Where was this man headed? Then he had and it and he stood and began to follow in earnest. A river flowed through a high rocky gorge not far away. Illya chambered the darts by feel and began looking for a clear shot.

 

                  The opportunity came when the sound of rushing water made itself heard. Illya quickened his pace, false dawn had arrived and he could now make out the figure moving just ahead of him. A darkness against the electric blue. The figure started to move faster and cursing softly under his breath, Illya took aim and fired. He knew it was a good hit, the man seemed to trip, but to Illya's horror, he didn't drop but kept stumbling forwards. Illya was at a sprint now, and when he thought he might have a chance at catching his quarry, it seemed like the ground just opened up and the man was gone. The agent swiftly went into a back paddle, twisting and throwing himself backwards, rolling away from the edge of the drop off.

 

                  He lay still letting the adrenaline run it's course, before slowly standing and brushing himself off. In a way, the man had been very correct in his calculation of the situation. They would have, in all likely hood, locked him up and thrown away the key, literally. Illya huffed a derisive sigh, holstered the gun and started to reach for his communicator when his hand stopped, suddenly feeling he was not alone. He slowly turned his head two figures, dark against the brightened sky, emerged from the trees. One seemed to be speaking, the hands active, animated. The other, listening intently. The talking one stopped and the other advanced. Illya stood tense, poised.

 

                  “Grandmother says you must come, with us, quickly. He will be hunting you and you must be prepared.” The voice was feminine, soft.

 

                 “Who are you. Where did you come from. I thought this was all forestry land.”

 

                “No. Not all of it. We are of the Siuslaw. You are now on our land. Our settlement is not far from here. We heard the gunfire and come to see. We know what he has done, and Grandmother will tell you what needs to be done to stop him.”

 

                “I have the suspicion that I am about to step into a very dark skazka. Very well, I will listen. Lead on.”

 

                They walked together until they reached what Illya could only think of as an elderly woman. The woman simply motioned with her head and walked away with Illya and the younger woman following.

 

                “What was that word you said, ska.....”

 

                “Skazka. It is Russian for fairy tale. You said you knew this man? What is it he has done.”

 

               “His name is Eugene Drummond. He was a student at the University of Oregon. He studied ecology and conservation. He also had an interest in our myths and legends. A few months ago he become obsessed with the story of the Baxbaxwalanuksiwe, a cannibalistic monster.”

 

              “And he harbored a deep abhorrence for the logging industry. You said that he was going to return...he said that something hadn't worked. That it had all been myth and lies. But you are saying that it did work.”

 

                Her voice came in a soft sigh. “So, he has done it. He has killed another human being and eaten the flesh.”

 

              “Two human beings, yes. Was he seeking to become some kind of hero? A protector of this forest?”

 

                “Perhaps that may have been his intent, but he has made a very bad mistake. By acting as a monster he has become it. He may not be able to tell friend from foe. If that is so, no one is safe. No woman or child. Not even of the people who also love and wish to see logging cut back. At least the government of this state has seen it necessary to implement a reforestation program.

 

                “So you take it for a certainty that this tale is true.”

 

                “I have always heard that behind every myth, there must be some truth. Grandmother believes it is true. I would rather be prepared.”

 

               “Ah, yes. I too have heard much the same argument from relatives of mine as a child in Russia. Very well, lead on.”

 

               It was more then just a settlement, there was a main street with a general store and a church. Another street bisected it with homes spread out across a deep meadow.

 

              “Much is government housing, but our men work in the lumber mills and camps and in the reforestation program and there is carpentry. Some of the women take in laundry and sell baked goods and produce from the land when it is in season. We are able to make a living.”

 

              The sky was brightening to full dawn and Illya noticed other figures emerging from the woods and moving towards the town while his guide and her grandmother seemed to be headed towards a cabin that lay on the outskirts of the two streets. The older woman bustled up the the two steps onto a veranda and into the front door of the house. Illya paused at the bottom of the short steps as the girl took a step up. Seeing him stop, she turned to watch him and he looked up at her.

 

              “You are about to invite me into your home, and we have not even been properly introduced. I am called Ilya Nikolayevitch Kuryakin.”

 

              She repeated it slowly as if getting tasting every word. “Welcome Eelya Nik-o-lay-yev-itch. I am called Abey. We do not much bother with middle or last names. But come in.”

 

                   She continued up the step, pausing at the door to wait for him before opening it and stepping into the main room of the cabin. It was rustic, as he had anticipated it would be, but it had a large fireplace and well appointed furniture. An alcove served as a kitchen. In the center of the common room, a large round hard wood table made up the dining area. Windows on all walls made the space appear light and airy. They both looked up as the older woman hurried in from another door way carrying two shovels which she pressed into their hands, then pointed at the front door with a strident, one sided conversation with Abey listening intently and nodding her understanding.

 

                    Abey looked at their guest. “She says we must start digging a fire pit. We must hurry.”

 

                   She was back out the door, Illya following closely as they made their way back across the meadow. A few hundred yards from the treeline, Abey stopped and sat her shovel, Illya began to dig in earnest.

 

                 “Grandmother says it must be deep and wide enough to hold a hot fire and the body of a man.”

 

                  Illya's head come up sharply.

 

                 “The old stories say that the only way to destroy this creature is to burn it. It is no longer the man Eugene Drummond, Eeleya. It is something dark, inhuman, more then just dangerous. It must be stopped. Here. It will come for you. It is for you to kill.”

 

              Illya went back to digging. It would hardly be his first kill after all. But what if the stories were false. That there was no monster but just a man, deluded and fanatical. There were always choices, he would just have to see how this all played out.

 

            Before long, more of the villagers began to join in the digging, some started to carry up loads of cut and split wood and kindling. Around noon make shift tables were set up, and women uncovered baskets of food and liquid refreshments. Illya rested his forearms on the handle of the shovel and smiled. He had seen this world over, in small towns throughout Europe, South America, everywhere. If there was serious work to be done, everyone pitched in. He gave a shrug, let the implement under his arms drop and he headed for the loaded tables. He had worked up a serious appetite and it was time to fill the void.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. The Forest for the Trees Affair Chapter lV

**The Forest for The Trees Affair**

 

Chapter lV

 

As always, no money is being made by me. Nope, don't own anything at all pertaining to the Man From U.N.C.L.E franchise.

 

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            The many hands made short work, and the pit seemed to meet Abey's grandmother's approval along about mid afternoon. A fire was started on the floor of it with the bulk of the wood was built up in small stacks around the perimeter. The blond agent studied the man trap grimly. He had been forced to construct such things and had had the great misfortune of running afoul of more then he would care to remember. But he knew the pain of heat and fire, and it wasn't something he could wish on anyone, not even his worse enemy. But Eugene Drummond had gone over the edge of a gorge into a fast moving river. Illya remained skeptical of the possibility of his return. The best case scenario would be that the man was dead and that he remained that way.

 

           So what was he still doing here? It would be simple to break the radio silence, make a report, retrieve his rental car, drive to the nearest airport and return to New York City. But then he would be forever plagued by the question, what had happened here? He had seen some strange things, both in his native country and while working with U.N.C.L.E. Voodoo dolls that had actually killed, men turned into zombies*. But there were logical explanations behind such things. Drugs can turn even a strong mind into a compliant,mindless robot. A man, who believed in magic could be scared to death, literally. No, it was nothing more then his own penchant for needing to know, his strong curiosity that kept him here and what was a few more hours either way.

 

          Abey's grandmother, sat near by talking to her granddaughter. As no one had yet volunteered to give him a name for her, mentally he simply referred to her as Babushka. She was so very like his own who was rumored to have been one of the Romani. When confronted with this theory, she had just smiled enigmatically but never would she refute the claim. But neither did she ever claim any affiliation with any one camp, but taught him respect for all. She had taught him their languages, signs, magicks, charms and beliefs and he had loved her ferociously. Now the two woman had their heads together and were wrapping slender poles, one end having been sharpened, with rags. Torches, then. Light and warmth to chase the darkness away, not that the fire in the pit wasn't giving off a fair amount of both, never a bad thing if you can't be in a nice safe bed when things are threatening to go bump in the night.

 

          Kuryakin closed his eyes and took a deep breath, Fall was coming on, the air had a sharpness to it that Summer air did not. He had noticed that the last couple of nights had been cooler then when he had first arrived. It also smelt like the forests of his childhood. Sharp and clean. Something he missed living in a big city, like New York. 

 

          “You are very like a Hlki Lokwa.* You are always watchful. Aware of what is around you. You are a skillful hunter. You will need that tonight, if the Baxbax actually comes.”

 

        At her first words, Illya had opened his eyes slowly, simply listening then turned to face her.

 

            “You did not think I spoke English, perhaps? Or simply did not feel the need to speak to a white man? I am an old woman, set in her ways. As a young girl, I was forced to speak the English, to forget my own native language. So now, I refuse to speak the English and speak only in Siuslaw so that the young do not forget. But I watch too and you are respectful of our ways even if you don't believe. So you, I will speak to, in the English.”

 

            Illya graced her with one of his smiles, the shy one and dipped his head in acknowledgment.

 

           She held out the long slender wrapped items she held in both hands. “These are for you.”

 

           He carefully lifted the longest package, cradling it in one arm he unwrapped it to reveal an old recurve bow. How old it might be, there was no telling. But it had been well cared for. The wood was not dry. There were no cracks or flaking. The whole was silky smooth to the touch with a slightly oily feel.

 

           The old woman watched as the long sensitive fingers examined the weapon. “You are familiar with the bow.” It wasn't a question.

 

           “I have used a bow, yes. But not one as fine as this.” Then his eyes went to the shorter bundle still ensconced in her arms.

 

           He rewrapped the bow and handed it back to the woman while he relieved her of the second package. With a slight dip of his head the wrappings came off the quiver that held about a dozen arrows. Then his head reared back as his nostrils flared, his eyes flickering to her face.

 

           “Garlic.....no...they are infused with phosphorus?”

 

            “These things have been passed down, generation through generation. I only take the bow out to keep it clean and to oil. The same with the shafts of the arrows. The wrappings of the points I have never touched only to keep them wet as I was taught to do. As I teach Abey to do. As she will teach a child of hers to do.”

 

              “Phosphorus is a chemical. It is found in three forms, white, red, and black. In the black form it is absolutely harmless. Red is used in matches, it is made by exposing the white form to a certain degree of heat. Ah, but the white, as this must be, is both highly poisonous and flammable. Merely letting air get to it will make it ignite and once it starts to burn it is most difficult to extinguish. The only way to render it harmless is to store it under water. Someone took their cannibal hunting very seriously indeed. I will need thick gloves. Tanned leather will do. I will also two sharp knives, a square of cloth and water. Never handle these wrappings or the arrow heads bare handed. Do not use the knives after wards to cut food of any sort.

 

              Once the material had been gathered he carefully unwrapped two to the arrows then placed them on the piece of material and wet them down again.

 

             “I am hoping, Hlki Lokwa, that the stories are not true. But I have a bad feeling about this night. A bad feeling I have tried to ignore but it won't leave me.”

 

             Illya nodded. “I too have such feelings at times. I found that it is wise to pay attention. May I ask a question?”

 

              “What is it.”

 

              “I won't hold you to an answer, of course. But what does Hlki Lokwa mean?”

 

              She paused, then nodded confidently. “ It means White Wolf.”

 

              A blond eyebrow arched as a frown flitted quickly across his features and was gone but then a half smile appeared. “I see.”

 

              The woman watched him closely. “You are not surprised by this?”

 

               The agent shook his head slowly. “As a matter of fact, I am not. Back in my homeland I had a nickname, Volchonok. It means wolfcub.”

 

               Slowly, almost timidly, the old woman stepped forward and lay a cool dry hand on his own. “There is a reason you have come to us. This cannot be only by accident that you are here. But I think you are a cub no longer.” Then she backed away. “It is time to set the torches. They will be lit after the sun sets. There is one more thing. If the Baxbax is real, and he comes. He will not be wearing his own face.”

 

              “I do not understand. We never saw each other face to face. I do not know what he looks like. Why the need for a mask of any sort?”

 

             “I cannot give answer to what I do not know. Only what I have been told.”

 

              Illya inhaled deeply then gave a slow exhale with a tentative nod. “The more light the better. I want to make sure I have a clear shot.”

 

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO

 

*The Very Important Zombie Affair: Season 2, Episode 15

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. The Forest for the Trees Affair Chapter V and Epilogue

**The Forest for the Trees Affair Chapter V**

**And Epilogue**

 

 

                    Welcome to the last chapter of this particular endeavor. I want to thank everyone who has continued to follow and read. It is very much appreciated.

 

                   As always, I own nothing pertaining to the Man From U.N.C.L.E in any way, shape or form. But we can dream.

 

Mfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfumfu

 

                    Illya tucked his blond mop into his dark grey knitted cap and moved well out of the perimeter of light. No sense setting himself up as an easy target. He carried the bow and the two unwrapped and dampened arrows with him, then he hunkered down. Waiting was always the hardest part of any assignment, though it was usually the most lengthy part.

 

                    The moon was still low in the East when a shadow passed just on the edge of the light on the farthest side of the fire pit.

 

                   “Illya, psst, Illya. Where are you.”

 

                   “Nap....what are you doing here!”

 

                  “Never mind that, we've got to get out of here. You're in terrible danger.”

 

                   “I am....how.”

 

                   “These people, they're lying to you.”

 

                  “How could you know this, Nap.....”

 

                  “Just listen to me, ok? Just listen. I've been reading up on this....cannibal....thing. By the looks of it, you haven't been filled in on the whole story on how to capture and kill it.”

 

                 “You......you made that connection, how?”

 

                 Illya stood and moved into the half light and watched as the familiar quirk of a smile appear on the face across from him.

 

                “Ah, gone native already, I see. Well, let me fill in a few gaps in your education regarding all this.” There was an elegant sweep of an arm. “First of all, the woman who has been feeding you this fairy tale left out the part where this.....creature....has an old crone for an accomplice. Seems she finds him nice fresh bodies. Secondly, were are the burning stones? According to what I've read, they killed the thing by stoning it with hot rocks.”

 

                 Illya had come to trust this man like no other. There was a truth between them, a brotherhood. They had saved each others lives countless times. But a small voice was making itself heard in the back of his mind, appealing to his intellect. Begging him to pay attention to. But to what? It didn't make sense. Napoleon was here, how, Illya wasn't sure. But he was warning him of danger, as they always did for each other.

 

                Then that small voice became a shout. _The old woman had given every warning she knew how! Even the arrowheads coated with phosphorus, stones that burned!_ _Here was proof that she had been telling the truth, make of that what you will!_

 

                 And the revelation rocked the Russian to the core, stealing the very oxygen from his lungs. 

 

_He will come, hunting for you. He will be wearing the face of another._

 

                 Illya took a shuddering breath. “Oh....Napol....no...not.....” He swallowed hard. 

 

                 He took three deep breaths, letting each out fully to the extent it felt like his lungs could collapse with the lack of the air to inflate them again. Then he went deep to that calm still place that was above the storm of emotions that let to conflict, self doubt, second guessing. The place that let him be at peace within himself with the decisions that had to be made. Where he could be alone with his instincts and intuitions and have full trust in both.

 

                “ _You had better be safe in New York City, my friend.”_

 

                He carefully removed one of the prepared arrows from it's damp cocoon and nocked it. Almost immediately there came a bluish green glow. It would take another few minutes for the chemical to actually combust to an orange-yellow flame. 

 

                “What the hell are you going over there! We've got to get out of here. There can't be much time.”

 

                 The Russian just gave a sharp shake of his head. “You go, or better yet, call for back up. If these people are accomplices to murder and worse, as you say, then it is best it is stopped, now.”

 

                 He watched as the dark, handsome face twisted into a mask of utter rage. “So, you won't come willingly, I'll just have to come to you.”

 

                Illya backed as the other stormed around the pit towards him. Out of the peripheral of his eye, he saw a pale flame lick the edge of the stone arrowhead and began to raise the bow, not hesitating to start the pull. 

 

                 The face that the Russian knew so well, but could only think of as an allusion now, smiled but it was grim. “You really think you can do any damage with that? Think again. You really have lost this one.”

 

                  Illya's chin lifted, then slowly settled, his stance grounded and steady as he cocked the nock against his cheek. Then, silently, without so much as a blink, he released the string, feeling the snap of it against his inner forearm. Saw the arrow strike home, slipping between ribs, deep into the chest. The other kept advancing for a few more steps before looking down. Shock registered on the brunette's face before reaching with both hands, attempting to dislodge it. 

 

                 “What have you done.” The breathing hitched as the shock deepened. 

 

                 “Illya......son of a bitch! What.....!?!”

 

                 The blond agent stood stone still.

 

                “Damn you....” Then came a deep groan. “Oh....God....the pain!” I'm burning up.”

 

                 Illya took an involuntary step backward.

 

                “No! You don't get to leave me like this! Don't.....oh God..... **hhheeellpp mmeeeee**!”

 

                 Illya gave a heart felt sigh. “Bozhe....... moy.”

 

                The screams climbed to a wild keening as the man stumbled blindly then there was an agonized gurgle and Illya finally turned away. He didn't see the figure falter on the edge of the pit before seeming to self-combust and disappearing. He was blind to the suddenly flaring of the fire within or the arrival of Abey until she stood right in front of him and reached out to him. He gave a sharp shake of his head as he avoided her.

 

               “No.....not now.” He strode off into the dark pulling out his communicator. It was passed time. Open Channel D”

 

                “Channel D open, report Mr. Kuryakin.”

 

                 Hearing the craggy British accent was almost a comfort. 

 

               “The Oregon saboteur has been neutralized.”

 

                “Deceased?”

 

                 “Yes, sir”

 

                 “You do understand, the FBI would have liked to know the identity of this person.”

 

                “Some of the locals knew him as Eugene Drummond. He attended the University of Oregon. He studied ecology and conservation. He also had an avid interest in local native myth and lore.”

 

                 Mr. Waverly paused ever so slightly. His two top agents had few weaknesses but the Russian did have a certain tell. When something got under his skin, he lost the years of his British and American education. His accent becoming heavier....his Russian coming through. But it wasn't something Waverly would ever reveal that he knew. He wanted to know when things might not be going well with his Section ll operatives. 

 

               “Very well. I will pass this information off to Special Agent Cross. When do you think you will be returning to New York?”

 

                “I will drive to Portland tomorrow morning. I should be in sometime in the afternoon. I shall communicate my ETA. 

 

                 “Very good. I will have Mr. Solo pick you up.”

 

                The relief that washed over the Russian was almost tactile and he had to take a breath.

 

                “That would be satisfactory, yes, sir.”

 

                “Well then, if there is nothing more, Waverly out.”

 

                Illya recapped the silver pen and slipped it away. 

 

                “Hlki Lokwa?”

 

               “Little Babushka.”

 

                He could hear the question in her voice.

 

               “What does this mean, bab-ushka?”

 

              “It means grandmother, in my mother tongue.”

 

               “I will accept this. It is time for you eat. Then a cleansing bath and sleep.”

 

               “That is very kind but I cannot put you out.”

 

              “You are not. We are having a communal supper. The water and herbs are being prepared for the bath. Your sleep will be guarded.”

 

               The meal was simple but the table was loaded with vitals and Illya found he was able to tuck in with his customary gusto. The bath house was also more or less communal, but he was given his privacy. He smelt that sharp tang of cedar and sage. The building was heated and he was able to take a good long soak and relax. It felt good. Over three days of light cold meals and very little sleep was starting to catch up with him. What old woman had meant by his sleep being guarded, well, he would be finding out what that meant in a few minutes. 

 

                Someone had provided a clean sleep shirt and a pair of soft flannel sleep pants and a robe. For his feet there was fleece lined moccasins. Once he was dressed, he made his way to Abey's grandmother's cabin. 

 

               She looked him up and down then motioned with a lift of her chin towards a closed door. “That is where you will sleep. Go now. There was power in the air tonight. You need to regain yourself. Sleep well.”

 

              With that she turned back towards the stove. All he could was give her a bit of a bow and approached the door she had indicated. He entered then stopped, finding that the room was already occupied. Then he started to back out.

 

              “I am sorry. It seems I misunderstood.”

 

               Abey smiled. “There has been no mistake. I am to make sure that your sleep is uninterrupted.”

 

              He hesitated but not knowing how to respond he simply nodded and crawled between clean crisp sheets and under wool blankets and a down duvet. 

 

             “Can you sleep on your side?”

 

             “Yes.” He rolled onto his left side. 

 

              Once he was settled, the light was extinguished and he felt the mattress shift slightly as Abey lay down to spoon him laying on top of the duvet but covering herself with a blanket and duvet of her own resting her chin lightly on his shoulder.

 

               “Grandmother says that what happened tonight would keep your mind from quieting itself. Being alone, it would be difficult to kept bad memories at bay. But tonight, you are not alone. So, now quiet your mind. Sleep, Eeleya.”

 

                 And much to his surprise he was able to accomplish just that. Throughout the night he had been vaguely aware of some troubling images trying to intrude, but each time they had faded into nothingness and he never stirred. 

 

                When he awoke it was early, past the false dawn but the sun was just clearing the eastern horizon. Abey was gone, but her side of the bed was still warm and the aroma of bacon and coffee registered fully. He rolled out of bed, found his clothes laid out and he dressed before moving out into the common room. 

 

                 He was greeted warmly by both women and they all sat down to a hearty breakfast. After wards he helped clean up.

 

                “You have to leave us, now?”

 

                He smiled softly. “Yes. I have a job I must return to. But I thank you both for your help.”

 

                   They both kissed him gently on a cheek and walked with him to the door. With a simple nod he slipped out and headed for the woods. He made a quick stop at Drummond's camp. It was tapped off as a crime scene. He was challenged by some wary agents but he introduced himself. An agent stepped forward and introduced himself. 

 

                  “So your Waverly's man. Glad to have had you around. The guy who did this hasn't showed up. You wouldn't know anything about that would you?”

 

                 “His name was Eugene Drummond, and no. He will not be returning. He went off a cliff into the river.”

 

                “I would like to have had a chat with him, but all in all, no great loss either way. You on your way back to New York?”

 

               “I am. I only need to retrieve my car.”

 

               “I have to return to DC myself. Can I offer you a lift?”

 

                “Thank you, yes. I buried it in a slag pile.”

 

                Cross gave a rueful smile. “Yeah, okay.” Then he shook his head.

 

                Three and a half hours later, Illya Kuryakin was reclining his isle seat back and settling in for the six hour flight east. 

 

**EPILOGUE**

 

 

             He moved confidently through the crush toward the baggage claim area. Once he had claimed his duffel bag he started to turn.

 

             “Welcome back, partner.”

 

             Much to his chagrin, he felt his fingers tighten on the straps of the duffel. He forced himself to turn and return a cordial and sincere nod. “Napoleon.”

 

             The taller brunette agent eyed the duffel bag then the carousel. “Traveling a bit light were you?”

 

             “Camping rough. I had little need for changes of outfits. No social commitments.” 

 

             The two fell in step, the blond letting the brunette take a slight lead as he knew where the get away vehicle was parked. Solo got behind the wheel and fired up the engine of the Dodge Custom while Illya pitched the bag into the back seat then took up shotgun. And the car purred away from the curb.

 

              “Up for some supper? My treat.”

 

               Illya sent a slight scowl his way.

 

             “The Old Man said you could dispense with the debriefing until morning. Thought you might like to just unwind tonight.”

 

             “Ah, so he wants you to pump me for information that I did not include in my initial report.”

 

            “Well, in a word, yes. He knows fully that sometimes it's helpful for agents to talk things out before hand.”

 

             “Very well. With one caveat. That at some point we stop at your favorite liquor store and I buy a couple bottles of your favorite scotch and my favorite vodka. I foresee the need of a good drink before and no doubt after. Oh yes, and in the middle of this tale as well.”

 

             Solo's eyebrow arched. “That bad?”

 

            “You have no idea.”

 

            Solo snapped a look at his passenger.

 

             “Please, Napoleon do keep your eyes on the road.” He flicked his hand towards the windshield. “Get us to our destination in one piece and I will be giddy with contentment.”

 

             Napoleon frowned but turned his eyes forwards. “Imperious Russian

 

           “Mmmmm yes.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
